Shay Savage - Otherwise Unharmed

“Nothing,” I grumbled.  “I’m not doing anything.”

“Bullshit.”  He lit his cigarette though I doubted he’d forgotten how much I hated people smoking in my apartment.  He did at least eye me with a bit of a grin and then motion to the balcony.

I followed him out and leaned against the rails.  He handed me a pack of Marlboros and his lighter, and we both proceeded to smoke the cigarettes most of the way down before Jonathan finally spoke.

“Lenny’s hit wasn’t unexpected,” he said, “but there were some, shall we say, unexpected themes around it that got me thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” I asked.  I didn’t try to play stupid—like I didn’t know the dude was dead.  It wouldn’t have helped, and I was pretty sure I knew where this conversation was going.

“Military weapon used, near the river and in the daylight, which is pretty bold.  The fixer didn’t bother to wait until he was alone, either, which means a certain level of confidence, ya know?”

I shrugged and tossed the butt of my cigarette on the ground before I lit another one.

“And sometimes…well, sometimes when you’ve been around someone for a long time, you just recognize their work, ya know what I’m sayin’?”

My eyes moved to his, and I knew he wasn’t just making random statements, hoping I was going to give something away.  He knew I wouldn’t be so careless as to let my poker face down, and I knew he wouldn’t be making such proclamations without being a hundred percent sure.

I was going to have to kill him.

My stomach tightened at the thought.  If I was ever going to call anyone in my life a friend, it would be Jonathan.  He was one of the few who never pressed me to tell him about the shit I went through but somehow managed to get me to talk about more of it than I had with most people—even my shrink.  It never felt like prying with him, and he always changed the subject before it got to be too intense for me.

“He already knows, brotha.  I didn’t tell him shit, even when I suspected it, but he still knows.  Too many hits that look like you in the area, and you don’t return his calls.”

“Haven’t received any.”

“You’re workin’ for the competition.  You hate Greco, so what the fuck?”

I didn’t reply.  He had to have figured I wasn’t going to answer something so blunt.

“You ain’t gonna talk, and that’s fine,” he said.  “I don’t know what happened to you in the slammer, and you probably aren’t gonna tell me, but I just figured you ought to know he’ll be gunnin’ for you now.  I can’t stop that shit.”

“I don’t expect you to do me any favors,” I informed him.

“Well, I fuckin’ did anyway,” he replied.

I looked up at him as he stepped closer to me.

“I wanted to give ya somethin’.”  Jonathan pulled out a folded up piece of paper and handed it over to me.  “I know it’s been a while, and I don’t know where we stand now, but I said I’d find out what I could, so I did.”

Tentatively, I reached out and took it from him.  As I unfolded it, the letterhead was instantly familiar—a stylized crucifix within a circle of woven wheat.  There was also a State of Ohio seal on the bottom of the paper, and across the top were the words “Certificate of Adoption” followed by my name.

There were two names on the paper with signatures scrawled below them.  The signatures were just above the words mother and father.  I could feel my pulse in my wrists as I looked over the document confirming my adoption from Alexander Janez and Anita Arden to Sister Margaret Arden.

My maternal grandmother.

I knew who Sister Margaret was—she had often taken care of me and the other children at the orphanage.  She died when I was in seventh grade—around the same time Mother Superior started spending more time with me.

“I confirmed that they’re both deceased now,” Jonathan said.  “So is the nun who adopted you, but there’s addresses on the back that’ll tell you where they’re buried.  You know, in case you wanted to go there or somethin’.”

I couldn’t speak as I stared at the paper and tried to make sense out of it beyond the obvious.  Were they too young to take care of me?  Were they pressured into giving me up by her mother?  Why raise me as an orphan instead of letting me know who my grandmother was?

Jonathan opened the sliding glass door, and I followed him dumbly into the apartment and sat on the couch.  My heart continued to pound.  I could only stare at the paper and try to make some kind of sense out of it.  Questions I had considered far beyond answering were popping into my head though I hadn’t thought about it all in years.  I had decided I didn’t care—whoever my parents were and why they decided to ditch me would always remain a mystery.  Now that I had a smidge of information, I wanted more.

“Well,” Jonathan said quietly, “I just wanted to give ya that.  I’ll leave ya be now.”

I found my voice.

“Hey, Jon?”

“Yeah, brotha?”

“I have something for you.”  I went back into the bedroom to retrieve the “Save Ferris” T-shirt I had bought for him some time ago, still in its plastic bag.  I handed it over to him, and he opened it up.

At first he looked a little confused, and then his eyes darted over to me.

“It ain’t my birthday,” he remarked.

“I missed your birthday.”

“That was six months ago.”

“I bought it in December.”

“Why were you going to kill me in December?”

Jonathan always was a lot more perceptive than he appeared, and I needed to remember that.  I smiled a half smile at him and shrugged.

“I was just checking on something.  You were clean, though.”

“Uh huh,” Jonathan mumbled skeptically.

“I was considering it a few minutes ago, too.”  I smiled a bit more.

Jonathan laughed.

“I guess I’m definitely thankful for this—in more ways than one.  Thanks, brotha.”

We shook hands, and he started for the door.

“Oh yeah,” Jonathan said as he snapped his fingers.  “I got ya something else, too, but I didn’t bring it with me.  Here ya go.”

He fished around in his pocket, came up with a couple lighters, shoved them into the other pocket, and then pulled out a key.  He tossed it to me with a flick of his wrist and walked out the door.

It was a numbered locker key with the name of one of the gyms in the area engraved on it. Far too curious to wait, I made my way to the nearest bus that would take me to the gym.  Inside the locker was a large gym bag.  Sitting on top of the bag was my old phone, containing several dozen messages from Rinaldo, Mark Duncan, and Jonathan.  I looked around to confirm no one was watching me, pocketed the phone, and then quickly unzipped the top of the bag to peek inside.

It was my Barrett.

Nothing could have surprised me more.

As much as I wanted to take my Barrett somewhere private and spend a lot of time with it, I was going to have to wait until I moved Lia to another location.  I tossed the bag over my shoulder, and the familiar weight felt fantastic.  I wasn’t sure how Jonathan had managed to get evidence away from the Chicago police, but I was definitely grateful.

Lia had both herself and Odin ready to go when I arrived.  I called a cab because I didn’t want her seen any more than absolutely necessary, and any form of public transportation wasn’t fast enough for me at this point.  I watched out the window for the cab to arrive and then ushered both Lia and Odin downstairs.

As soon as I walked outside, he was there—the kid with the bomb strapped around his waist.  I tensed and fought against the urge to pull my gun out and start firing.  I closed my eyes, shook my head, and looked again, but he was still there.  He didn’t move—only stood there with tears running down his cheeks.

“Let’s get out of here.”  I opened the back door of the cab and held Lia’s hand as she climbed in.

The cab driver looked more like a chauffeur than a usual cabbie.  He had on one of those captain-style hats and dark glasses.  He helped load Lia’s suitcase into the trunk, and we got on our way with Lia sitting in the center seat so Odin could hang his tongue out the window.

I gave the cabbie directions to a neighborhood in Avondale.  We wouldn’t be staying there—it was just a stopping point to get another cab.  He pulled onto the expressway, and I sat back in the seat and closed my eyes.

Lia leaned over to put her head on my shoulder and spoke softly.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” I replied, keeping my voice low.  “This is just a detour.”

She stayed quiet as we traveled quickly down the center lane.  I scratched Odin’s neck and ears as he sniffed at the corner of the window, occasionally sneezing into the wind.  My mind was occupied enough for the moment that I almost didn’t realize where we were.

“You missed the exit,” I called up front.

“Did I?  Sorry about that.  I’ll get the next one.”

I narrowed my eyes a bit at the face in the rearview mirror.  I was abruptly uneasy and had to fight down the paranoia growing in my gut.  I glanced out the window and half expected to see the kid on the side of the road, but he wasn’t there.  I took a deep breath and tried to center myself.

It didn’t work.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked the driver as he sped past the next exit and continued on the expressway.

“I was going to take Parkview,” he said.  “There’s less traffic.”

“Bullshit!”  Without hesitation, I released the seatbelt, pulled out my gun, and put it next to the driver’s head.  “I’m not putting up with elevated fucking prices from a piece of shit cab driver.  Take the next fucking exit.”